


Natural Disaster

by caitlinrose923



Series: Plain White T's/Song Project [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 06:42:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20774231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitlinrose923/pseuds/caitlinrose923
Summary: Killian Jones, lead singer of the up-and-coming rock band Deaf Horses, does NOT date fans.So it's a good thing Emma Swan isn't one.





	Natural Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a little tiny idea a while back to write stories based on my favorite songs or my favorite album or whatever, and this is the first of that collection! WOO!  
Natural Disaster is a song off of the album Big Bad World by the Plain White T's.
> 
> Special thank you to [shireness-says](https://shireness-says.tumblr.com) and [snidgetsafan](https://snidgetsafan.tumblr.com) for giving this story so much attention and somehow not murdering me for asking them approximately 4 billion times to look at it again. <3
> 
> Rated T for language.

“That chick’s been staring at you all night,” David shouts into his ear. But he shouldn’t have bothered saying a word, because Killian already knows that, and he’s staring right back. 

There’s a beautiful blonde in the center of the dance floor. 

Killian Jones is _not_ a dancer. He’s a singer, a guitar player, some might even say a rockstar. But he definitely does _not_ dance. Even after a few libations, when he loosens his tongue and his morals (both already quite loose to begin with), he still won’t step one foot onto the dance floor of whatever club he ends up at on any given night.

“Half the club is staring at the two of you,” Robin yells from the other side of David. “I think they all want you to join her.”

“I don’t dance, mate.”

It’s as though she reads his lips, because she frowns when he says it. Her smooth movements stop and she begins a slow walk towards him.

David smacks him in the arm, ever the subtle one, as though Killian can’t see what’s happening for himself.

“Buy me a drink?” she asks simply once she’s within earshot. Killian smirks and turns to wave down the bartender. Once her order has been taken and filled - some fruity cocktail he misses the name of - she turns to face him. “So, were you gonna just keep staring at me the whole night, or were you planning to make a move eventually?” She wraps her mouth around the straw and takes a small sip.

“I’m afraid I don’t dance, love, or else I would have joined you long ago.” He maintains eye contact with her. Killian feels like they’re playing some sort of secret game, and he’s not sure if he’s in the lead or not. 

She hums in response, regarding him carefully.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet. I can’t even hear you.” She grabs his hand and he follows her without hesitation, though he does turn once to make sure his friends have noticed his departure. Robin rolls his eyes with a half-smile, and David gives him a solid thumbs up.

She leads Killian through several hallways, up stairways and through doors; he’d had no clue that this club was so big. And then they’re on the roof.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. Away from the bumping music and the shouting partiers, the rooftop is quiet and almost muffled; a blessing, as his brain is still throbbing from the volume indoors. He’s looking at New York City in a whole new way. From the roof, it’s just an endless sea of lights - some flickering, some steady. And it just might be the most beautiful view he’s ever seen.

“I know, right? The first time I came out here, I was blown away. I can party as much as the next girl, but sometimes I need a little peace and quiet.” She moves closer to him, and she’s got that familiar look in her eyes, like he’s a piece of treasure she’s just discovered. He realizes at that moment that she’s recognized him. She’s not some random attractive girl moving in on some random attractive man; she’s a fan at best, a gold-digger at worst. 

He sighs.

“What’s wrong?” she practically purrs. All this before she’s even mentioned her name, or asked for his - though she clearly knows it already. Most girls at least _feign_ ignorance.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard, love, but I don’t sleep with fans.” He’s lived by this rule since Milah - a fan with a husband who’d tried to convince both men to participate in a threeway with her - and he doesn’t intend to break it, even for a beautiful girl like… damn, he really needs to ask her name.

“_Fans_?” She sounds incredulous. “Fans of _what_?”

He’s not sure if she’s just a good actress, or if she genuinely doesn’t know who he is.

“Of...my band?” His voice comes out a little too unsure, completely void of his usual overload of confidence.

“You’re in a band?” She’s moving farther away from him now.

“Erm, yeah.” He scratches the back of his ear. It’s been a long time since he’s had to _tell anyone_ who he is - at least anyone under the age of 40. “Deaf Horses?”

“What the fuck is ‘Deaf Horses’?” She wrinkles her nose, and despite the situation clearly spiraling in a negative direction, he finds himself _very_ attracted to the movement.

“That’s...the name of my band?” He’s turning statements into questions. “_New York Panic_?” He names their latest hit, now hoping she _does_ know who he is, even if he’d been wishing she didn’t only moments before. She stares at him blankly, and he begins to sing the first verse, feeling a blush creep up his neck. He sings in front of large crowds on a regular basis but, for some reason, singing alone on this rooftop with a beautiful girl - whose name he _still_ doesn’t know - is terrifying to him. He hears his voice crack and hopes she doesn’t notice.

“I don’t really listen to the radio, but I think I heard that when I was at the grocery store last week.” She smirks at him, and he’s not sure whether she’s mocking him. _Your song must not be that great if it’s playing at the local Trader Joe’s_, her tone is suggesting. 

“Well, glad we’re reaching people any way we can,” he laughs it off, scratches behind his ear again, and finally holds his hand out to her. “I’m Killian Jones.”

She stares at his hand for a moment, looking between it and his face, and he feels as though he’s offended her without knowing how. Finally, just as he’s about to drop his hand back to his side, she takes it. She doesn’t shake it, just holds it for a moment.

“Emma Swan.”

“Lovely to meet you, Emma.”

\-----

An hour later, he’s sitting beside her on the ground and leaning against the brick wall that’s preventing them from falling off the roof.

“So he tried to frame you for stealing the watches, but you’d… already set him up.”

“Yeah, I mean, I was undercover, so I couldn’t just tell him I knew what he was doing!”

Somewhere in the back of his head, Killian is aware that his friends are probably looking for him, that they’ll want to leave soon. But he’s also finding it _very_ difficult to care. This woman - Emma - has been telling him the most _ridiculous_ stories about her time as an undercover cop. The men she’s put away, the men who’ve tried to seduce her, the one man who’d _succeeded_ in seducing her, only to turn on her (but not before she’d turned on him first, thankfully). She’s captivating and interesting and she _doesn’t give a shit about his band._

“I should go,” she says as she stands and holds a hand out to help him up. He takes it and stands, but holds onto her hand for a moment.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he offers. The shyness returns in full force, and he raises an eyebrow in question.

“Oh, um. I don’t really date.” But she’s still holding his hand.

“You brought me up to quite a romantic spot, Swan. I admit, there was no food, but there were drinks and lovely conversation… I think you already took me on our first date. I’m just trying to return the favor.” He licks his lips. She watches the movement and lifts her eyes back up to meet his.

“I was just trying to get laid,” she shrugs and finally takes her hand back. She walks towards the door without another glance in his direction. Her hand is on the door when he finally comes up with a last-ditch effort.

“We’re playing Webster Hall tomorrow,” he tells her. “I’ll put you on the list.” She pauses for a moment, nods almost imperceptibly.

“We’ll see.” And then she’s gone.

\-----

“I met a girl last night,” Killian tells the crowd the following night. Their response is mixed, some screams and cheers, lots of boos. “I’m not sure if she’s here tonight, but this one’s for her.”

_Tonight we’ll sleep upon a bed of stars For just one night, the whole sky is ours_

It’s impossible to see past the blinding stage lights, but every time they dim a bit, he looks for her. She hadn’t arrived yet when he’d taken the stage - he’d asked Regina to check with the box office, but her ticket had sat unused. Perhaps he ought to just forget about Emma Swan.

Jesus, even her name sounds like a song.

After their encore, he hands out set lists and guitar picks and even leans down to sign a few autographs before Regina hustles him off the stage. He looks at her with an unspoken question in his eyes. 

“The ticket was picked up, but I’ve got no way of knowing if she actually came in, or if she stuck around.”

Despite her negative attitude, Killian feels his heart jump.

_She came._

Against his better judgement, he walks through the venue to the merch table. The screams are numerous and _so damn loud_ but he poses for pictures and signs autographs and keeps a patient smile on his face. He loves meeting fans, loves hearing how songs he’s written have helped heal a broken heart or some other cliched fan comment. He started writing to piece himself back together in the first place, so it means a lot that his words resonate with other people.

It’s just exhausting.

Also, he’s sort of on a mission.

And then he sees blonde hair behind the slowly thinning crowd. She’s leaning against a wall, watching him and looking amused. After what seems like hours (but is really probably only fifteen minutes), the fans are ushered out by security. They start to tell her to leave as well, but Killian reaches them just in time.

“She’s with me. We’re heading back to the green room now.” The guard nods his head without a word.

“You put on a pretty good show, Jones,” she tells him while they walk. He wants to grab her hand.

“I’m glad you think so,” he tells her honestly.

They enter the green room and four heads turn towards them.

David smiles, instantly recognizing Emma as the girl who’d turned Killian upside-down at the club the night before. His wife, Mary Margaret, wears a matching grin. David has without a doubt filled her in on the events of the evening before, and she’s nothing if not a sucker for a romantic rooftop date under the stars.

Robin raises an eyebrow, unsure of the new guest. Where David wants nothing but True Love for all, Robin’s fatherly instincts take over and he worries whenever Killian meets a new woman. Regina jumps a foot away from Robin, whose lap she’d been perched in, when she sees a strange face enter the room. She and Robin have been together for years - nearly since the creation of Deaf Horses - but their relationship is far from public; as the band’s manager, she worries that it would cause a fuss within the industry if a member of an up-and-coming band were romantically linked to said band’s manager. She purses her lips and glares at Killian, and he can practically read her mind. _A little warning would have been nice_.

Killian clears his throat to break up the silence. Mary Margaret remembers her manners and stands to introduce herself.

“You must be Emma!” Her wide smile falls a bit when she sees the shock all over Emma’s face. “Oh! This is my husband, David.” She gestures vaguely towards him. “He was out with Killian last night when you two… when you met.” She grins broadly again. “It’s not like Killian was talking about you — ”

“That’s _quite_ enough, Mary Margaret,” Killian mumbles. He glances at Emma, who’s blushing quite a bit, but seems to be taking the ramblings of his best mate’s wife in stride.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she finally says. She glances at Killian, unsure of what to do next.

“Would you like to see the tour bus?” 

\-----

It’s not so much a bus as a van; as it’s only a three-show stint in the tri-state area, a bus would have been grossly unnecessary (not to mention expensive). But there’s a large enough backseat where they alternate sleeping while on the road, so he can sit beside Emma without practically sitting on her lap.

“Thanks for the song,” she whispers. It’s deafeningly quiet in the car, the windows rolled up to protect them from the midnight chill in the air. It’s bound to fog up eventually, leading to a comment or two from his bandmates, but he’ll deal with that when the time comes.

“I’m glad you were there to hear it,” he admits. “I’m glad you came.” He’s watching her, willing her to look at him instead of at her hands.

“I almost didn’t.”

“Aye, Regina said you still hadn’t picked up your ticket before we hit the stage.”

“You were checking?” She finally looks at him, amused.

“Had to know if you’d shown up for our second date,” he sticks his tongue out between his teeth playfully.

“I don’t _date_.” She rolls her eyes but then brings them back to meet his.

“Okay, Swan. It wasn’t a date.” He holds his hands up in defeat. They sit in silence for a moment.

“Thank you for the ticket,” she says simply. “I’ve never been on a guest list before. It was pretty cool.”

“Ah, well, for that, I think a bit of gratitude _might_ be in order.” He taps his lips, teasing her. He’s still practically across the car from her, careful not to move into her personal space and scare her off.

“That’s what the ‘thank you’ was for,” she laughs.

He holds his hand to his chest in mock offense.

“Is that all a spot on the _coveted_ Deaf Horses guest list is worth to you?” he scoffs teasingly. “‘Pretty cool,’ indeed!”

Emma eyes him carefully, glancing between his eyes and his mouth, and he feels himself tense up. He’d been teasing her, but if she — 

“Please,” she smirks and raises an eyebrow. “You couldn’t handle it.” She moves to get out of the car. Killian responds before he can think better of it.

“Perhaps it’s _you_ who couldn’t handle it.”

She freezes, turns towards him slowly. And then she’s everywhere.

Her hands are on his shirt and then moving to his hair, tugging, _pulling_. Her mouth is on his and her hair is draped across their faces. He realizes that she’s knocked him backwards so that he’s laying down and she’s on top of him. Finally, his brain catches up to what’s going on, and he starts giving as good as he’s getting. His hands move separately, one cradling the back of her head, the other one holding her lower back steady above him. 

And then, before he can fully lose himself in the moment, he hears voices. She hasn’t stopped yet, but she doesn’t know his friends’ voices like he does. She won’t recognize them, and she _definitely_ won’t want to get caught like this. Reluctantly, he pulls away from her. She stares at him, her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed. He glances outside quickly, hoping she’ll understand his meaning. She listens, and her eyes widen. She jumps off of him, practically falling over herself as she climbs out of the car. He follows her, stopping only to glare at his friends, who’ve stopped in their tracks, all watching the scene in front of them with matching expressions of shock.

“Emma, wait! Please.”

She stops, but doesn’t turn to face him. He walks around her, blocking her path but giving her space to move around him if she so desires. She doesn’t move.

“Emma, that was…” He can’t come up with words. He writes words for a living, and now he can’t think of a single one.

“A one time thing,” she says simply. And then she moves around him and disappears around the corner.

\-----

“You didn’t get her _number_?” David is incredulous, as though he’s become personally invested in Killian’s non-relationship with Emma Swan.

“No, mate, because the lot of you came out and interrupted something I thought was going _pretty fucking well_.” Killian had claimed the roomy backseat for himself, hoping to fall asleep on the drive to New Jersey. But David won’t stop bloody _talking_.

“We had to leave eventually, Killian.” Regina is rolling her eyes - he knows it without even seeing her.

“Couldn’t have waited five more minutes, I suppose,” he grumbles, turning over so he’s facing the back of the seat. He knows it’s crazy, but he’s pretty sure he smells her--

Her jacket. Emma’s red leather jacket is sitting here on the seat. She must have taken it off when the van started to get warm. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Regina!” He sits up straight, suddenly no longer tired. He holds up the jacket victoriously, and she turns around from the passenger seat. She stares at him blankly.

“What am I looking at, Jones?”

“It’s her jacket!” He’s yelling much too loudly for the small space within the van, but he doesn’t care. Mary Margaret turns around, her eyes lit with excitement. _Finally_, Killian thinks. Someone who will understand the huge monumental thing that’s happening.

“She left it behind?” Mary Margaret’s eyes are as wide as saucers, and Killian can practically see her writing his fairy tale ending in her mind. “Just like Cinderella.”

“I don’t see how her jacket is going to help us get her phone number for you.” Regina’s tone is flat, but Killian can see she’s interested in the story, in how this will play out.

“Post it on social media?” Killlian offers. “‘A fan left this at our show last night. Please contact management and they’ll return it.’ And then we just get her to come to the show tomorrow night, and I can try again.”

The whole van, save for Robin (who’s driving), turns to look at Killian.

“It’s worth a shot,” David finally says.

“You think she’ll bite?” Regina asks.

“What’s the worst that could happen? She doesn’t come to the show and we mail her the jacket.” David is getting excited now, his expression mirroring his wife’s. It falls a bit as he adds, “Assuming she answers and tells us where to send it.”

Despite David’s minor reality check, Killian sits in the backseat, grinning like a fool. _Like Cinderella_, Mary Margaret had said. Like fate, more like.

\-----

_FOUND: Red Leather Jacket, outside of Webster Hall after Deaf Horses show on Thursday, 8/22. If this belongs to you, please contact DH’s management at: regina@SBmgmt.com. We will have the jacket with us at the show at the Starland Ballroom as well._

Once the post is up, Killian asks Regina no less than fifty times if she’s received an email. The fifty-first time he asks, she glares at him so hard, he’s pretty sure she’s trying to make him burst into flames.

“I’ll _tell you_, Killian. Relax and go do sound check before I hit you over the head with your own guitar.”

He’d added Emma’s name to the list again, on the off chance that she figured out his plan. On the off chance that she _wanted_ to see him again. But once again, by the time he hits the stage, her ticket has gone unclaimed, and Regina’s fierceness has been replaced with pity.

The whole show, he shoves all thoughts of red leather jackets and green eyes out of his head. Or he tries. But every time he’s able to look into the crowd and he sees blonde hair, his heart jumps a little.

“So, I met a girl,” Killian repeats his story to this new crowd. Again, the response is mixed. “And she’s truly unlike any other girl I’ve ever met,” he bites his lip, and he can’t shake the feeling that she’s here. That she’s watching him. “And I’m hoping if I sing this song _just right_, maybe she’ll give me a chance. Can you guys help me out?” The crowd cheers as the opening chords ring out.

_Your eyes are wild like stars on a summer day,_

_I’m ready to go with you, let’s run far away._

Regina’s waiting for him backstage after the set. He can’t read her expression and he can’t get to her fast enough.

“She came. She apparently asked security to find _me_ during the show. I was available, but I told them to tell her otherwise. Thought you’d rather give her the jacket yourself.”

Killian kisses Regina on the cheek before he grabs the jacket from the couch in the green room and heads out the back door. Thankfully, only a few fans know where the back door to this venue is, and he gladly poses for pictures and signs all ten autographs. He sees Emma leaning against a _hideous_ yellow car parked very illegally in front of the band’s van.

“I heard you had something that belongs to me.” 

Killian knows he needs to tread carefully. He registers that she looks nervous: arms crossed, brow furrowed just slightly, and she’s biting her bottom lip. 

“You left it in the van last night,” he shrugs, holding it up by one finger. “I wanted to make sure it reached its rightful owner.” She still hasn’t moved; she’s glancing between him and the jacket, as though it’s a trap and he’s going to grab her and run once she gets too close. “I’m not going to hurt you, Swan,” he sighs, officially resigning himself to the fact that what they’ve had - two glorious nights where he finally felt a connection, felt _alive_ \- is nothing at all.

She tilts her head.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you’re acting as though you’re terrified of me. I’d rather you just take the jacket and go than be afraid of me,” he shrugs, extending the hand holding her jacket out towards her a bit more.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Emma says as she stands straight up. Her arms are still crossed and her brow creases more as she shifts into defensive mode. “I just can’t give you what you want.”

“And what do I want, Swan?” He’s still awkwardly holding the damn jacket.

“Some fairytale romance like your friends! They’re all paired off, and you’re looking to be just like them! I’m not a _romance_ person, Killian. I can’t give you all that weird sappy shit.”

Killian laughs so hard he almost drops the jacket.

“You’ve got me all figured out then?” He’s laughing so hard, he’s near tears. “I assume you still haven’t listened to a single song I’ve written, have you?”

She blushes a bit and shrugs.

“Just the ones you played live.”

He could kiss her, because she really, truly just _does not give a fuck_ about his band and it’s so goddamn refreshing.

Killian reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the notepad he always keeps there, just in case, and a pen. He tears out a page and begins writing song titles down. He hands her the list, but still holds onto the jacket for some inexplicable reason.

“Ugly Rhapsody? Free Heart? Gonna Make You Break?” She looks at him. “What is this?”

“It’s a few choice songs from our first two records. Listen to those, and then tell me you think you know me and what I’m after.” He holds out the jacket again.

“Thanks for the ticket… and the song. Again.” She finally takes the jacket, and she stands right in front of him. The nerves and the anger are both gone, and she’s just staring at him. He starts to lean down and then he hears the door open behind him.

“Bloody hell,” he whispers, closing his eyes in frustration. But then he hears her laughing.

“Where’s the show tomorrow?” she asks. He looks at her, sure he’s misheard her somehow.

“TLA in Philly,” he says, still halfway leaned down over her, awkwardly wondering if she’ll still meet him halfway despite the fact that his friends are coming.

“Should I buy a ticket?” she asks, feigning innocence, her lips curling up just a tad. He hesitates a moment, and clearly she misunderstands as her face falls.

“Why don’t you just meet us before the show?” Killian straightens up again, but stays close to her. “We usually get some steak sandwiches down the street. You could maybe sit with Mary Margaret during the show.”

“Backstage?”

“If you’d like,” he shrugs.

“We’ll see,” she says simply. And then she’s kissing him again. It’s not heated or passionate like the night before, but simple and quick and… just right. She holds tight to her jacket this time as she walks away.

\-----

“I met a girl,” he tells the crowd for the third night in a row. The boos are a little louder than the cheers tonight, and he laughs. “She’s lovely, I think you’d all like her.” He looks down at the front row where Emma Swan is standing, having somehow convinced Mary Margaret to brave the crowds, which just so happen to be her least favorite part about going to Deaf Horses’ shows. “This one’s for her.”

_A lot of people told me I had a fake heart But maybe I just needed you to make the real one start_

After the show, she’s waiting for him. They walk down South Street together once the straggler fans are satisfied, and she subtly takes his hand.

“I’d say this is our… third date. The show in New Jersey doesn’t count,” he tells her.

“I don’t date,” she says once more. But she’s smiling and she’s still holding his hand, so he pushes her, just a bit.

“Why not?”

She laughs, but it’s not her fun, vibrant laugh. It’s cold and empty, more a cough than anything.

“I’m a mess, Killian.”

“Emma, you see what I do for a living, right? Where I sleep half the time?”

“You usually have a bus,” she counters, and she’s right. Ever since they’d opened for Metal Ships for an entire summer tour, they’d blown up. They’d finally released an album on a real label, they had an agent, not just Regina pulling double duty, and they had money for a tour bus when they headlined.

“Aye, but still. I don’t have a proper home, just a shoddy two-bedroom I share with my brother. I do the same shit day in and day out and I spend _a lot_ of time wondering if it’s what I really want.” They’ve stopped walking now, and they’re in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at each other, hands still linked together. “I’m a pretty big mess myself.”

“Your mess is like a windy day and my life is a fucking hurricane,” Emma tells him, rolling her eyes. She tries to keep walking but he grips her hand tighter and pulls her back.

“Then blow me away,” he says, and she’s so close he can almost kiss her. He leans down to do just that--

_Pffffffft_.

She puffs her cheeks out and blows hot air all over his face.

“It didn’t work,” she says simply, shrugging her shoulders. Killian can see the beginnings of a smirk forming on her lips. He throws her over his shoulder and walks the block back to the bus with Emma Swan giggling into the back of his jacket.

It’s gonna take a lot more than some little breeze to make him give up on this.

**Author's Note:**

> All lyrics, song titles, and band names were created sort of by me and sort of by a lyric generator I found so I'm taking credit ;)


End file.
